


manage me, i'm a mess

by raewrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Humor, M/M, and daichi puts up with so much, kuroo is a menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrites/pseuds/raewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times in which Kuroo Tetsurou makes Sawamura Daichi question everything he’s ever believed in, and one of the (many) times it clicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	manage me, i'm a mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babbitly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbitly/gifts).



> for the lovely jordan as part of hqss !! (of which i’m incredibly late, tfw you go to india for three weeks)
> 
> the prompt included college au, fluff, and sweaters, so we've got a little of those all in here. i suppose this could be thought of as a future addition to my other kurodai ['the faster we're falling'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1959630), though the two can be read separately !!
> 
> title from song, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpG3BxRctQ4) !!

Sometimes Daichi has to remind himself that he's the one who got himself into this situation.   
  
Sometimes Kuroo does it for him.  
  
"Remember, you're the one who got yourself into this situation. You kissed me first. You were free before that happened."  
  
Daichi rolls his eyes, looking at Kuroo Tetsurou like an enigma, like something he sees before him but can't quite believe exists (or has managed to exist _this long_ ), the degree to which the other acts absolutely moronic reaching levels Daichi believes is beginning to affect his lifespan.  
  
"I knew there couldn't be a reasonable explanation for why you had to borrow my packing tape." Daichi exasperates, leaning against the doorframe of his apartment, looking Kuroo up and down, observing the other's distorted facial features as clear packing tape wraps itself around his jaw, under his nose, crossing over the bridge of his nose, and twisting around the top and back of his head for good measure.   
  
"Let me guess."  
  
"It was Bo."  
  
"Isn't it always."  
  
"Feel like being the best boyfriend ever?"  
  
Daichi tilts his head, looking suddenly coy, and only more so when he notices the hope in Kuroo's eyes fade just a little with the change, making what Daichi's going to assume is a pout, though Kuroo's top lip is restricted in the overall motion.  
  
"I don't know." Daichi muses, smirking now, arms crossing over his chest, "This is pretty amusing."   
  
"But babe, my hair." Kuroo insists, patting the back of his head as though Daichi needs clarification to where exactly said hair is located, "Imagine how fucked up my hair will be. I'll be _bald_. What the hell are you going to pull when I bring you to a god-sent, earth-shattering orga-"  
  
" _Christ_ , fine." Daichi interrupts, suddenly flustered, grabbing Kuroo by the forearm and yanking him through the entryway and into his apartment, ignoring the shitty-eating grin the other somehow manages despite his current situation, "Also don't get full of yourself."  
  
"Did I lie?"   
  
"Just sit down, I'll get the scissors."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I know.”  
  
***  
  
Daichi's not quite sure how to feel about a lot of things. But there is _one_ thing he’s sure about.  
  
“That sweater is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” He deadpans, Kuroo looking not at all discouraged by the comment as he pulls at the hem of the scratchy material, observing it like one would observe something resembling some degree of impressiveness.  
  
“You’re such a scrooge, Sawamura.” He chides, glancing up from his new-found monstrosity to catch the other’s unimpressed glance, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk Daichi's grown steadily suspicious of during the course of their relationship, “Ugly sweaters are cute.”  
  
“Seems like an oxymoron.”  
  
“They _are.”_  Kuroo insists, patting down the front of said object of interest, the multiple jingle bells adorning the crudely stitched christmas tree chiming with the motion, “And I’m going to get you into one.”  
  
“You do _not_ have more than one.”  
  
“What? Is there a _law_ against how many ugly sweaters a man can own?”  
  
“There really should be.”  
  
***  
  
Daichi’s never had to call the fire department to his own apartment, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.  
  
“I’ll buy you a new microwave.”  
  
“Okay, but _after_ we get you to the hospital.”  
  
“Will you be nursing me back to health?”  
  
“Let’s see about that new microwave first.”  
  
“Fair."  
  
***  
  
There are some people who can manage sickness with grace; manage a snotty nose and rattling cough with barely noticeable maneuvers and minimal complaining.  
  
Kuroo Tetsurou is not one of those people.  
  
“I think I’m dying.” He mumbles from the couch, curled up in all of the blankets Daichi owns, including the sheets off of his bed just to combat the shaking of Kuroo’s whole body, his teeth chattering as his fever burns relentlessly into its second day, “Babe, I never wrote a will.”  
  
“You’ll be fine.” Daichi says, gentle as he sits across from him on the surface of his coffee table, pressing his palm to the other’s forehead, frowning at the cold sweat there, replacing the damp cloth with a new one, “I promise.”  
  
Kuroo makes an obscene snuffling nose that makes Daichi cringe slightly before burying himself further into his self-constructed blanket cocoon, mumbling another pathetic, “It was nice knowing you, Sawamura. Remember me."  
  
“Kuroo, seriously.”  
  
“You have a great ass.”  
  
 _“Really.”_  
  
“And an even better personality.”  
  
“Nice save.”  
  
Kuroo begins to laugh, though the motion of it evolves drastically into another rattling cough, ending in a tired moan as the other struggles to keep his eyes open, falling slowly but steadily into fever-inhanced delusion.  
  
“Will you stay here?” He asks eventually, and Daichi feels a lick of fondness encircle his heart, finds himself nodding before he truly considers the implications, before he gives himself the chance to care about them.  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
Daichi stands to his feet, pacing around the coffee table to settle on top of Kuroo’s monstrosity of blankets, wedging himself between the back of the couch and Kuroo’s back, resting his chin on the other’s sweaty shoulder, pressing a kiss there to comfort against the incessant shaking.  
  
“Babe.”  
  
“What?” Daichi asks, running his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, brushing it away from his eyes so the other can catch his expression, glazed over and half delirious with fever and lack of consistent sleep, “Need anything?”  
  
“No, I just wanted to say,” Kuroo begins, taking a deep breath before continuing, Daichi hanging onto his words despite himself, “If this is the very strain that starts the zombie apocalypse, I’m sorry if I eat you first. It’s probably because I love you so much. Also probably because you’re closest in proximity.” Kuroo groans again, head lolling against his pillow, blinking to keep himself awake and look back to Daichi’s face barely composed with laughter straining against the back of his teeth, “So yeah, sorry just in case.”  
  
“Okay, okay. How about you try and sleep now?”  
  
“Mm, yeah.” Kuroo relents with a yawn, followed by a series of teeth chattering and snuffling, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too.”  
  
“You’d be the hottest zombie out of them all, you know."  
  
 _“Sleep.”_  
  
“Okay."  
  
***  
  
Daichi’s recently made an effort to study with Kuroo as little as possible, for his own sanity more than anything.  
  
“I just don’t _have_ to study.” Kuroo says, shrugging his shoulders as he pulls off his sweatshirt, slipping his arms through the holes again so he’s wearing it backwards against his chest, “I’m a Philosophy major, anything flies.”  
  
Daichi squints from over a pile of textbooks: Microeconomics, Business Statistics, and Management all making appearances among them in his current chaotic state of finals hell. He picks up his third and last coffee, taking a swig of the cold dregs before placing it next to the other cups in what Kuroo’s dubbed ‘the graveyard’, having torn out a page of his notes and written ‘RIP’ in memorial. Daichi heaves a sigh, voice rough against his throat as he speaks up again.  
  
“I know, but it’s still infuriating.”  
  
Kuroo grins, kicking his feet up on the table and leaning back on the legs of his chair, the creaky wooden joints echoing in the expanse of their college library, “Such is life.”  
  
“Do you use that line in your finals?”  
  
“Thanks for the suggestion, babe. I’ll try it.”  
  
Daichi’s groans, letting his forehead drop to the open page of his textbook, as if direct contact would force the material through his cranium and directly into his brain. Usually Daichi manages finals with minimal damage, beginning his reviews two weeks before the final test dates, studying for an hour or so everyday until he takes his seat in the test room, prepared like all of the advice threads online  tell you you will be.  
  
It’s only with this particular clusterfuck of classes, the flu, and a certain, highly distracting boyfriend that Daichi currently feels like he’s drowning in papers and projects, equations and theories mixed together in his mind after attempting to memorize them all at once, each of them practically indistinguishable as the other.  
  
Lifting his head, Daichi rubs his eyes before meeting Kuroo’s glance from across the table, the other with his fingers pinched in the material of his hood, ready to cover his face and nap indefinitely. But suddenly, Kuroo leans forward to plant all four legs of the chair on the floor, pacing over behind Daichi and wrapping his arms over his shoulders, resting his chin at the top of Daichi’s head. There’s a moment that passes in which Daichi simply allows himself to be embraced, closes his eyes and sinks backwards against Kuroo’s chest, breathing a deep sigh to feel lighter in his fingers and toes, relaxed for the first time that week.  
  
“Black with two sugars, right?” Kuroo finally asks, reaching to poke at one of the empty coffee mugs, letting them both fall down like bowling pins against the tabletop, “Anything else?”  
  
“Bring two.”  
  
“Right, right."  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too."


End file.
